Undercover songwriter with a potty mouth

There is nothing more humbling than playing a gig on a drab Monday night. Despite the low turnout, however, I had a very entertaining evening.

This was partly because I was playing with two other charming acts. Shannon Rose and the Thorns are always lovely to see, and Garner was a treat on stage. It was cool simply watching them do their thing (it was also fun to heckle them a bit, just for kicks).

I think the highlight of my evening though was the spectacularly shitfaced woman who tried (emphasis on tried) to converse with me after my set. She stumbled over to me slowly, but I could smell the booze on her breath from across the room. She told me her name was Alexandra. She was a multi... No, BILLIONAIRE. She lives in New York (later on she said she lived in Venice, so maybe she just has a lot of houses). "I know Paul McCartney," she slurred, getting so close to me that her eyes looked cycloptic. "And I know Jimmy Buffet." She spaced out for a while, in her own world. "I own the Dallas Cowboys too," she concluded. "And you? You're the real thing. I could put you in the same room as Armani." She swore me to secrecy about all this, of course, but you guys won't tell Armani, will you?

Later, when she was rocking out to one of the bands, I saw her suddenly bend over and duck her head behind a table. I thought for sure she was puking, but someone informed me later that she was removing her boots and changing her socks. She followed this by doing a bizarre dance that looked like she was trying to shake water out of her ear canal.

I am never bored at the Rainbow, I'll tell you that much.

Today was the best possible day off. I slept in. Filed a huge stack of papers. Did a few loads of laundry. We took Morty for a walk and came across a big stand with local strawberries. I bought a basket full, and we went home to make pancakes with whipped cream and fresh fruit. Jesus, it was good. Everything went swimmingly, which is great because I was pretty stressed out yesterday and then to top it off, Morty pooped on my sweater. ON MY SWEATER. POOPED.

So, basically, I needed a good day like this. Now I'm going to pop my leftover strawberries in the freezer, and curl up in bed.